left: East of the Sun, West of the Moon20″ x 16″, December 2015, Smithright: Voodoo Lounge, 1968, 20″ x 30″, Smith

Two of my art works, 49 years apart.

Fotos above areEast of the Sun, West of the Moon, December 2005
andVoodoo Lounge, my first wall piece, 1968.
The blue is my mixture of copper corrosion. The action figure is Edgar Allen Poe with a raven on his shoulder.

Did my first piece of art in 1965. Still doing it.
First poem I still have is from 1964. Still doing it.

Going to try to post a piece or two every few days cuz folk have forgotten I do as much art as poetry.

My brother Cat Smith blew his brains out at age 30 in the bed of his pickup due to too much alcohol, too much speed and coke, marriage problems, financial problems, the stress of trying to keep his and our father’s Brick/Block/Stone mason business going in light of Pappy’s decaying health, and maybe perhaps starting drugs too young – he was 11 when he first dropped acid in high school. I was 21 when I started drugs, had a chance to ripen before diving in.

Fair Trade

I don’t always turn the other cheek,
sometimes I slap back.

And I always forgive,
but never forget.

So beware,
fair is fair.

– Smith, 7.21.2017

Fotos below:
word piece is Voodoo Lounge, 1968, 20″ x 30″, Smith
blue piece is East of the Sun, West of the Moon
20″ x 16″, December 2015, Smith

Fotos above:
word piece is Voodoo Lounge, 1968, 20″ x 30″, Smith
blue piece is East of the Sun, West of the Moon
20″ x 16″, December 2015, Smith

Crickets creep between cars
in not quite night
their soothing sound attending ghost
of then and them and now
matching most of me somehow

Saw an I-90W sign saying“Drug Activity / Impaired DrivingCall This Number”
so I did
said I was interested in some drug activity…
it didn’t go well

Roads outside this window
goin’ places doin’ things
with a lot less cussin’
and fussin’ and cheatin’ moan
that’s where I wanna roam

Late at night
we drive into deep wood
to camp way off grid
nada on GPS screen
gas near empty
next morning turn wrong way
go further into no-one-home land
fuel light starts cursing
the film Deliverance runs in my mind
so we give up
turn around
retrace tracks
finally find gas
and small town library with wifi
get go again
add new rule to list:
don’t wait to tomorrow
to refill strange territory today

It’s not all rock
there’s the exquisite relief of quitting time
dragging dead flesh twixt hill and home
to swallow cold food
before tepid bath and bed
and the dreamless ache of sleep
where eyes closed in dark
wake in same dark
at alarum’s croaker cry
to rise again
stack old bones on new pains
then limp to manual mountain
and hope against logic for gain

Catching up to the rat wheel
takes money, time, desire,
and I’m short all three.

Invisible patty-cakes on the Zen back of night,
or the sad middle notes of an old 50’s song?
Both fine soundtracks
for yet another Walking Monkey Production
(believe it’s the old-timers with Alzheimer’s
who’re running the show).

Still, the setting sun climbs the tree
lays along its leaves
and watches layered light
sink slow below the surface
of our 3rd floor Victorian window
and I feel eased.

That’s a poor pour
so pour more
more caffeine
pour faster so I’ll walk faster
and won’t fall
gotta go gotta go gotta go
cant stop cant stop
or rat wheel will rust
and we’ll all fall down
like sadsack clowns
limp in limb
laying around
let’s fill my form with vroom
gimme some Zen zoom
caffeinate me over the hill
in mind/body will

3 pm
time to lose or chose
third cup of coffee or no
knowing I’ve no weed
to slow caffeine’s carom

Weak cup coffee to pry my weary lids open
this freezing so-called spring morning
with weed running out and money not enough
and wife stressed with boss-lady worries
and the cat wheezing much and vomiting often
and the politicians in a race downhill
to dumber meaner cheaper
and decent folk so amazed not to be
locked away in concentration camps
they keep their head down and fear unsaid

Ahhhh, the first sip of pre-dawn coffee
the first toke of pre-dawn grass

Black pool of night before sun
surrounds as I drink black pool
of coffee in cup

Caffeine in my brain
need in my node

Drinking coffee from Kathy’s cup
it’s another day in Paradise
in the temple of the ample

Brain fuzzy cuzza not enough coffee

The push of coffee, the pull of grass,
the swoosh and soothe all bound
around untight to firmer ground

A black cup of black coffee
raised to my white face

And if you really want to up the ante
try a cup of cowboy Costa Rican pan coffee
Fair Trade of course.